


this phantom ache (lessens with you)

by elarificness



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Alcohol, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-adjacent, Character Study, Confessions, Fenris and Hawke are both bad at expressing feelings, Hawke's red stripe is a scar in this, Kissing, M/M, Mentions of Past Slavery, Pre-Relationship, Rogue Hawke (Dragon Age), after the deep roads and Hawke moves to Hightown, before all the Danarius things, past trauma, this is just a lot of feelings honestly, this is not how the canon romance goes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:00:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27885664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elarificness/pseuds/elarificness
Summary: “Sky is beautiful tonight,” Hawke said.Fenris glanced up. Then he stopped.There were no clouds above them, but a splattering of stars against the inky dark. Fenris tried to recall the last time he had stopped and looked at the stars and found a void where the memory should be.He frowned and looked back at Hawke. He was still staring up, mouth open a bit.“You are drunk,” Fenris said.Or Fenris is trying to deal with a lot of things. His feelings, the constant waiting around, and whatever Hawke is smiling about all the time. But he thinks Kirkwall isn't too terrible just yet. At least not with Hawke around.
Relationships: Fenris/Male Hawke
Comments: 2
Kudos: 47





	this phantom ache (lessens with you)

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to F for reading this, the title help, and for the feedback.

Fenris still didn't know he was allowed to be happy. 

Well, that wasn't the whole truth. 

Fenris _knew_ he could. He was allowed. There was no one there to tell him to stop or that even would tell him to stop. 

Hawke looks up across the table at him, face flushed, and grins so wide Fenris doesn't know how it doesn't hurt him. 

Maybe there was even someone there that _wanted_ Fenris to be happy.

But no, he couldn't entertain that notion as he hid behind another sip of wine. 

Fenris knew he was allowed to be happy. He could be. He wanted so badly to be. And yet…

He wouldn't allow himself to be happy. Not yet. 

And maybe that was why he let Hawke be happy for him. 

Hawke was always happy. Always joking around. Always on the brink of laughing. Always grinning just a bit. It was easy to blend into the background around him. Even with his sword and tattoos and elf-ears, no one seemed to look at him when Hawke was around. Hawke drew away the attention Fenris desperately wanted away from him. 

The problem was that Hawke also managed to draw Fenris’s attention as well. 

“Fenris? Are you alright?” Isabela asked.

“Ah, Broody is just being broody,” Varric said. 

Fenris hummed, finishing off his wine in one shot. 

“I think it is time I head back home. Wouldn’t want to brood too much at your celebration,” Fenris said.

“Finally,” Anders said with a smile. 

“Aw, come on, Broody, it's a term of endearment,” Varric said. 

Fenris let his mouth quirk up a bit as he stood up, picking his sword up and sheathing it on his back as he went. 

“Wait,” Hawke called. 

And that voice is the only one Fenris found himself listening to. He looked up, raising a brow. And Hawke was smiling still as he stood up, pulling one of his daggers out of the wooden table and sheathing it behind him. 

“I’ll accompany you,” he said. 

Despite the warmth of the Hanged Man and the Hanged Man’s spirits, Fenris felt himself grow just a bit cold. 

“Do you doubt I can take care of myself?” Fenris asked. 

“I haven't slept since two nights ago, Fenris. I want to go sleep,” Hawke says. 

“Oh.” 

Laughter tinkled across the table then quickly stifled itself. Hawke dropped a few coins on the table, saying something to Varric before turning his attention back to Fenris. 

“Let’s go then. Wouldn't want to keep Hightown waiting,” Hawke said. There was a moment where Hawke reached for him before he stopped himself, pulling his arm back to scratch at his head. 

“Hm. I'm sure it doesn't miss me at all,” Fenris said. 

Hawke snorted, his face scrunching up in another smile. He walked past Fenris, and Fenris followed after him. His face softened a bit, but he still didn't let himself smile. 

Kirkwall was never silent, no matter what hour of the day or night. Especially not in Lowtown. The bustle of the Hanged Man just lessened a bit, the people spread out, taking up the room provided by all the alleys and side streets. 

They said nothing for a bit, as they made their way to the main street that led to the large central stairway. It wasn’t quiet, and Fenris never sought out peace in the streets of Kirkwall for that reason. He thought again of leaving Danarius’s mansion to find peace elsewhere. 

Then he looked at Hawke as he stared up at the sky, hands behind his head, and he thought better of it. 

“Sky is beautiful tonight,” Hawke said. 

Fenris glanced up. Then he stopped.

There were no clouds above them, but a splattering of stars against the inky dark. Fenris tried to recall the last time he had stopped and looked at the stars and found a void where the memory should be. 

He frowned and looked back at Hawke. He was still staring up, mouth open a bit. 

“You are drunk,” Fenris said. 

Hawke sputtered a bit, shoulders shaking as he laughed and looked at him. 

“Thank you for noticing,” he said.

Fenris rolled his eyes and started walking again. 

“Come along then. I thought you were eager to get to bed, and we still have many stairs to climb.”

“If you don’t like the sky, I won't bring it up. But that involves you telling me you don't like the sky,” Hawke said. He followed after Fenris, footfalls matching. 

“I don't have a problem with the sky,” Fenris answered. 

They walked up the steps together, side-by-side, and Fenris kept his gaze down on the individual steps. 

“You know, Fenris…”

There is that tone in Hawke’s voice. The tone Fenris can never quite place. The tone that Fenris had eagerly run away from each time he heard it. 

“Yes?” He asked instead. There was nowhere to run there anyway, besides further up or further down, and Hawke would just follow. 

“I know you don't really _want_ our company, but I'm glad you are in our company regardless,” said Hawke, soft as the wind blowing through leaves. 

Fenris didn't know how to feel about that. How to respond. And he still couldn't run away, so he did the only thing he could. He lashed out. 

“Ah, yes, I'm sure I am useful in battle. I'm glad _you're_ at least benefitting from these marks now. Someone should be after all the pain they caused me.”

“Fenris…”

“And I'm sure you find it quite fun, seeing me traipse all over Kirkwall with _mages_ of all things. I'm glad I still have a bit of wit left to be used for entertainment.”

Hawke didn't try to interrupt then, so he kept going. 

“And I might be a former slave and a knife-ear on top of that, but at least I can swing a sword as well as anyone else. At least I can take more pain in the place of someone more important like your sister or your business partner or that half-possessed demon you are fond of.”

“I see that you are drunk as well then,” Hawke said. 

Fenris stopped and looked at him. Hawke only makes it one step further up before he stops and turns to look back. 

“What?” Fenris asked. 

“You don't talk very much regularly. And now here you stand, spouting off about all kinds of nonsense.”

“Nonsense.”

And Hawke—he laughed. Not at him. Not in a way that hurt. He laughed like he was exasperated. Like what stood in front of him was so strange that all he could do was laugh. 

And Hawke looked back up at the sky for a moment before looking back down at him. 

“Fenris, your company is appreciated now at this very moment. There is no battle being fought. I just simply like having you around. Even if you are brooding.”

Fenris made a face. 

“I'm not brooding.”

Hawke snorted and rolled his eyes before tilting his head up towards Hightown. 

“Let’s get home. We can argue about the definition of brooding later when we are both sobered up.”

“Are we ever?”

Hawke grinned at him, and Fenris ached to give him something in return. A smile maybe. Something small. 

Instead he looked down at the steps and started moving again, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. His cheeks felt hot. His steps unsure. 

Maybe he had gotten drunker than he intended. 

When they finally reached Hightown, Fenris expected a farewell at the top of the stairs. Their homes were in different directions after all. 

But Hawke wasn't smiling anymore as he glanced around. 

“Let me walk you home,” Hawke said. 

Fenris frowned as he looked at him, but the serious look on Hawke’s face made him pause. 

“Will you be able to find your way back home afterwards? It won't do us any good to be walking each other home back and forth until the sun rises.”

Hawke’s lips twitch up into a smirk despite himself. 

“You are very capable, Fenris. I'm wounded at the idea that you find me less so.”

“And yet you think I cannot walk myself home,” Fenris replied. But Hawke takes it as he should. A joking jab. And Hawke chuckles under his breath as they start to talk again. 

Fenris neither loved nor hated Hightown, but it was quiet he supposed. Quieter than Lowtown by leaps and bounds. Quieter still than Darktown. He couldn't imagine living in the alienage instead where every manner of disturbance occurs throughout the day and night. 

No, at least Danarius was wealthy. It was not lost on him that his former owner had a manor at the top of a city where he could look down upon others freely. Where the gates stood chained and crying, and the Imperium was gone in name, but surely not fully in act. 

It brought a distaste to the back of his tongue, but he guessed he benefited from it enough. While Varric had to stay in a place like the Hanged Man, he got to live in the relative luxury of a rotting mansion that no one ever bothered to check.

At least it gave him quiet and space. 

At least it was close enough to Hawke’s manor that he was always the first person Hawke asked to tag along on any adventures he was going on. 

“It’s quiet,” Hawke said, pulling Fenris out of his thoughts. “Quieter than usual.”

Fenris squinted and glanced around, and he was right. It was still relatively early. There would be a stray person walking to or from the chantry or the Viscount’s keep or simply sneaking around to do whatever dark deeds the rich got up to once the sun was down. 

Hawke stopped walking and looked around. Pillars and shadows surrounded them. 

“Fenris,” Hawke said softly. 

“Hawke,” Fenris said back. 

And then Hawke’s daggers were in his hands as he whirled around, and Fenris jumped back, pulling his sword out. 

The coterie was good, but never good enough. Not for them. 

With one swing from Fenris’s sword, three men were plowed down, and when he glanced at Hawke, he was smiling again as he spun around and disappeared in between shadows only to reappear behind someone else. He leapt forward, daggers like the fangs of a snake as they sank into the screaming flesh of another assassin. 

It was nothing. An annoyance. Even ten men fell easily apart before the two of them, and when they paused to wait for others that would not come, Fenris noted how even Hawke’s breathing was. Even drunk, he was a spectacle. An unfailing uninjured spectacle. He had killed six men in the span of a few minutes, and the sweat on his brow was probably more from the alcohol than the effort. 

“I wonder who sent these ones,” Hawke mumbled as he wiped his daggers clean on his pants before sheathing him again. 

Fenris hummed and sheathed his sword as well. 

“You have a habit of angering many, Hawke. It could be any number of people.”

Hawke laughed again, hearty and short. 

“That is true. This city can't decide if it loves me or hates me.”

Fenris looked down at the closest body and squatted down to see if there was any evidence. His heart stopped when he realized this wasn't coterie at all. 

“Ah, but these weren't for you, Hawke. What a rare treat,” Fenris said. 

“What?” He was suddenly next to him. Fenris always wondered how such a large man can move so quietly. So spryly. He looked like he would thunk along on heavy steps, and yet he seemed to barely exist, floating through life on the tip toes of a shadow. 

“These aren’t from Kirkwall,” Fenris says as he points at a pendant around the body’s neck. “This is the mark of Danarius. I’m assuming he sent them in the hopes of catching me unawares.”

Fenris drops the pendant before getting up. He stretches his neck, sighing. But Hawke remains there, squatting down next to the body. 

“It is a bit insulting. Only ten people to subdue me,” Fenris said. 

Hawke doesn’t laugh. He just slowly stands up, more sober than before. 

“Fuck him,” he says. 

Fenris’s eyes widened. 

“Strong language,” he said, trying to bring the mood back down, but when Hawke turned to look at him, all the smiles and laughter has left his face. 

“You don’t deserve this,” Hawke said. 

Deserve. That was a word Fenris avoided at all cost. It opened up a strange pit in his stomach as soon as the word left Hawke’s mouth. 

“All this shows is how much of a coward my former master is. Or how beneath him he believes I am.”

Hawke frowned, and his hand opened and closed for a moment, reaching for something, before it stopped. 

“Home, then. There’s nothing left for us here,” Hawke said. 

“Indeed.”

The rest of the walk is silent. Even in Fenris’s mind, it is quiet. He keeps replaying the way Hawke’s hand moved. The way the fingers curled into a fist and then opened into something softer. 

When they get to Danarius’s mansion, they stop, and Fenris opens the door. 

“I hope you sleep well,” Hawke said. 

Fenris looked at him and nodded.

“Make it home, Hawke. Sleep well.”

Danarius’s mansion is empty as always, silent as always. 

But for some reason, Fenris finds no quiet there. No peace. Not this night. 

“I truly do not understand how you can live here,” Fenris said, nose scrunching up at the smell of alcohol and vomit that seemed to permanently permeate the Hanged Man.

“They bring the alcohol to my room and leave me alone otherwise. It’s perfect,” Varric said. 

“Tell them to bring more then,” Hawke said. 

“Is that wise?” Fenris asked. 

Hawke threw him a shining smile and pointed at the cup in his hand. 

“I haven’t drank anymore than you,” he answered. 

Fenris rolled his eyes. 

“Very well.”

“What I don’t understand is why you decide to get drunk here instead of in your lovely Hightown mansion,” Varric says, pouring Hawke another drink. 

“What, so my mother can scold me for drinking too much? I think not,” Hawke said. 

“You act like you’re the only one with a mansion in Hightown,” Varric says. 

They both turned to look at Fenris, and Fenris blinked back at them. 

“Are you inviting yourselves?” Fenris asked. 

“Of course not. It’s your house,” Hawke said before he drank down his entire flagon of ale. 

“I think I prefer it empty. Too many people, and I’m reminded of all the demons we had to deal with,” Fenris said. It wasn’t a lie. He was inclined to let Danarius’s mansion rot around him if nothing else. Filling it with life and laughter felt wrong somehow. 

“Wouldn’t want to intrude on your brooding space,” Varric said. 

Hawke chuckled as he reached for another drink. Fenris watched his hand reach and grab and pull. He hid behind his wine glass again. That was one good thing about the Hanged Man was that the wine never seemed to run dry. 

He didn’t know why he was there if he was honest. Hawke had stopped and said he was coming here and asked if he wanted to come along. Fenris could have said no. He had even been inclined to say no. 

But then Hawke smiled, and Fenris found himself following after him, musing about a good drink as if he didn’t have wine at home. As if there wasn’t still a fully stocked wine cellar beneath Danarius’s mansion that Fenris planned on finishing off. 

His presence wasn’t even necessary, Fenris found out. Hawke and Varric were discussing everything and nothing at all. There was no plan. No battle. Hawke only had his daggers on him out of habit instead of actual anticipation. 

Fenris was a part of the conversation by default, simply by being in the room. Varric was a good host. A good storyteller. He wouldn’t ignore anyone that was in the room, even if they weren’t particularly forthcoming or open. 

And Hawke looked at him. Smiled at him. Threw glances at him when he laughed as if he was hoping for something. 

It was friendly, Fenris supposed. Company if nothing else. He wouldn’t admit it, but it was nice to have company he wasn’t expected to entertain. To serve. Hawke wouldn’t even ask him to pass him a bottle if he could help it. 

And yet he still couldn’t understand _why_. Out of all the companions Hawke kept, he certainly wasn’t the most agreeable. He didn’t even agree with Hawke on many things. They weren’t even the closest of friends. 

Fenris supposed it was because of proximity. It was only a short walk from Hawke’s mansion to Danarius’s in Hightown. A better walk than the one up to the guard’s quarters for Aveline, or to Darktown for Anders, or to alienage for Merrill. And of course, Varric and Isabel were where he was heading anyway. 

Proximity. That had to be it. 

“What do you think, Fenris?”

Fenris blinked up and stared at Hawke as he tilted his head and smiled. 

“Oh, you weren’t listening were you?”

Fenris gripped his wine glass tighter. 

A shadow of a former fear passed down his spine. Of what might have happened if he had been caught not listening. 

“It’s better he hadn't. Only a fool wants to fight a high dragon,” Varric said.

“Didn't we kill a dragon not too long ago?” Fenris asked. 

“Exactly!” Hawke said, smug look on his face as he turned to Varric. 

“That was more an overgrown lizard than a high dragon, Hawke.”

“I’ve met a high dragon, remember? She brought us to Kirkwall.”

“That was... something else entirely. In Thedas there are actual dragons, and I for one hope to never run across one. The one in the bone pits was enough for me,” Varric says. 

“Well, I think it would be fun. No one could deny you if you had slain a dragon.”

“The Qunari see it as a glorious thing, being able to kill a dragon. A true fight,” Fenris said. 

“And they're right,” Hawke said. 

“I don’t think you need any more glory, Hawke. You can get all of that without fighting a dragon,” Varric said. 

“But we already have,” Hawke whined. Fenris felt his mouth quirk up. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard Hawke seriously whine before. 

Varric shook his head and reached over to pick up his crossbow. 

“Going to polish it again?” Hawke asked.

“Bianca is a precision instrument, Hawke. I need to take care of her to keep her that way.”

Hawke rolled his eyes, and his gaze landed on Fenris. He winked. Fenris looked away to grab the wine bottle and refill his glass.

“Maybe we should leave you two alone then,” Hawke said.

“Oh, is it that private of a thing?” Fenris asked. 

Hawke sputtered out a laugh, and Fenris let himself stare at him for just a moment before throwing back the rest of his wine glass. 

“Fine, fine,” Varric said. 

“If I slay a dragon, you better put that in my book,” Hawke said.

Varric chuckled in response. Standing up, Fenris felt his blood rush around his head. Hawke wobbled on his feet before laughing at himself, a soft little guffaw before he straightened himself out and took a deep breath. 

“Coming?” Hawke asked Fenris. 

A nod, and they were off, walking out of Varric’s room through the Hanged Man. Fenris held his breath until they were outside, and he sighed before breathing deep. 

The air still wasn’t much better there, but it was cleaner. He realized Hawke was staring at him because he wasn’t moving. Fenris looked at him, and instead of looking away, Hawke just smiled. 

“Maybe I got drunker than I should have,” Hawke said. 

“Perhaps,” Fenris said. 

They stared. 

“Are we heading back up to Hightown or?” Fenris asked. 

Hawke licked his lips. 

“Do you want to see something?” he asked. 

Fenris raised a brow, but he nodded once. Hawke smiled as he started walking, heading in the opposite direction to Hightown. Following, Fenris kept his eyes on Hawke. The way he swayed a bit as he walked without actually stumbling. Even drunk, he still wasn’t clumsy. Not then at least. 

The night was quiet the way Lowtown always was. They walked past questionable alleys with questionable people and never gave them a second glance. Whisperings that would hush at the sound of footsteps and pick back up once they were past. Somewhere, someone was singing a song, drunker than the both of them combined. All Fenris could make out was slurs. But Hawke hummed along as he walked, so Fenris found himself focusing on that instead. On the way Hawke seemed to sigh his way through humming a song, a few words mimicked on the tip of the tongue but not voiced. 

Fenris had never considered Hawke’s voice before then. It was quite lovely considering everything. 

“Here,” Hawke said as he stopped. Fenris stopped and looked around the corner.

“What?” Fenris asked.

Hawke pointed up at the small house on the corner. It seemed small and shabby like most of the homes in Lowtown. 

“This is where I used to live. I mean, my uncle still lives here, but he doesn’t seem to be home at the moment,” Hawke says. 

Fenris had never been to Hawke’s home before he purchased the Amell estate back. Hawke always came to him before heading out on whatever adventures they went on. 

“It doesn’t fit you,” Fenris said before thinking about it. 

Hawke laughed like he always does. 

“It didn’t. It barely fit any of us. Me and Bethany and my mother all stuck into one room, feeling awful whenever me and Bethany would get back home in the middle of the night after doing Athenril’s work and wake her up. Letting our uncle yell at us for having to be here at all. Listening to my mother cry at night over my dead brother only to turn around and blame me for it.”

Fenris stopped and turned his head to look at Hawke. The memories falling from his lips were anything but happy, and yet there was still a smile pulling at his lips. 

“Maker’s breath, I don’t think we slept at all that first year. Or I didn’t. And then when the year working for Athenril ended, I still couldn’t stop to rest. Then it was gathering fifty pieces of gold to go to the Deep Roads with Varric.”

“And gathering a band of strangers to go along with you?” Fenris asked. 

A chuckle. Hawke run his fingers through his hair, brushing it back, and Fenris stared. 

“Well, at least friends aren’t hard to come by,” Hawke said softly. 

But Fenris kept thinking about his earlier words. 

“We made it out of the Deep Roads. It was hard, but we made it,” Fenris said. 

“Right. And you know, the hilarious thing is that when it was all said and done, when I was finally in a big house in Hightown, in my own room, so rich I never had to worry about anything again, I thought I’d be able to finally rest. To sleep at night at least.”

Fenris felt something stirring in his chest. Something he didn’t want to acknowledge. 

Because Hawke must be happy. He _must_ be. 

It never occurred to Fenris that anyone was as wretched as him, though he had never truly thought of himself as wretched. Maybe unfortunate, once or twice, on those nights that the lyrium would sing so loud through him that it actually felt like it was screaming instead, screaming all the way down to his bones, but never wretched. 

He didn’t think so highly enough of himself to be anything at all. 

Hawke though, with his semi-permanent grin and a laugh tumbling out of his mouth every other moment— Fenris had thought him happy. Always happy. And it had never occurred to him how important Hawke’s happiness was until right then when it suddenly felt like that happiness was all an illusion. 

“Do you still not? Sleep well?” Fenris asked, quiet. 

And Hawke had the audacity to look at him with owl eyes before bursting out a laugh, loud and genuine and raucous before he slapped his hand over his lips to bring it all back inside of him again. Fenris blinked at him for a moment, confused. 

“What?” he asked. 

“Fenris…” he was still laughing. The hint of sadness from before had gone, replaced by the laughter. Glad for at least that, Fenris stayed still, waited for the end of his sentence. 

It didn’t come. 

A different sentence came instead. 

“It’s getting late. Maybe we should start making our way up,” Hawke said. He glanced over his uncle’s house one last time before he turned, starting to walk back the way they came. Fenris watched him for a moment before following after him. 

When they got to the steps to Hightown, Fenris looked up. 

“Stars look good tonight,” Fenris said softly. 

Hawke looked at him and smiled before glancing up. 

“They do.”

They didn’t speak again for the rest of the night. 

Danarius’s mansion was picked clean. It had been picked clean since the night Fenris decided to keep it for himself. Hawke and Varric and him had spent a day taking down all of the Tevinter art on the walls and selling it off in the market for a hefty little sum of gold that they immediately gave back to him. Fenris had never owned anything in his life. Now he had jangling pockets, a stocked wine cellar, and a place to spend the restless hours that passed between now and whenever Fenris was finally able to rid himself entirely of Danarius. 

It was a strange existence Fenris had. He preferred not to think of it too much. How even now, freed from bonds of slavery, he owed much to Danarius. Even if he had taken the mansion from him, it still belonged to Danarius. So much so that even after months of living there, Fenris still called it Danarius’s despite everyone else attributing it to him. Hawke even called it his. _Fenris’s Mansion_ , he would say, and for that moment it would almost feel true. 

Still, it didn’t feel like his. Fenris doubted it ever would. But the wine he sipped on every spare evening, now that he would claim. 

It was one of those rare spare nights where Fenris was settling down in front of the fire with a brand new bottle from the cellar. He had only just poured himself a glass when there was a knock on the door.

Fenris frowned at his glass before he put it down on the table before he got up to answer the door, picking up his sword on the way. 

When the door opened, Hawke was standing there, beaming at him. 

“Hello, Fenris,” Hawke said. 

“What is it now? A lost templar? An errant blood mage on the Sundermount?” Fenris asked, sheathing his sword. 

Hawke’s smile faltered for a moment. 

“No, nothing like that. I was just wondering if you would want company. Or help finishing off that wine cellar,” he said. The smile was back, momentary slip passed. There was even a hidden little chuckle somewhere in there. 

“Oh. Really?” Fenris asked. 

“Yes. I don’t feel like climbing up and down the stairs today, but I still wanted your company,” Hawke said. 

There was something off about that sentence. Probably the _your_. Hawke had to have meant it more vaguely.

“So? May I come in?” Hawke asked. 

Fenris nodded before he thought about it, stepping aside to let Hawke walk in. Hawke took up the space eagerly, footsteps silent as he crossed the threshold. 

“Oh, I see you already were starting for the night,” Hawke said. 

“Yes. Although, I had only just poured that out when you arrived. Your sense of timing is unmatched.”

Hawke hummed out a response as he walked over to the side table where Fenris kept the glasses, picking one up to use before walking back over to the fire and sitting down in an empty chair. Fenris walked over to the table, picking up the bottle he left there to pour out a glass for Hawke before he remembered himself. He didn’t have to serve anyone. 

But Hawke seemed oblivious to Fenris’s thoughts. 

“Ah, thank you,” he said as he took the bottle from Fenris to fill his own glass. 

Fenris nodded before grabbing his own glass and sitting back down. The wine was red and sweet as it filled his mouth, and he silently thanked Hawke for never noticing the awkward moments where old habits appeared in his new life. 

“How many more of these bottles are there?” Hawke asked. 

“Hundreds, at least,” Fenris answered. 

Hawke let out a low whistle. 

“So we don’t have to worry about finishing tonight.”

Fenris hummed. “Afraid not. It will be a long time before I get through the whole thing. Especially with all the nights out.”

“Out?”

“At the Hanged Man. Paying for wine when I have better here,” Fenris elaborated.

“Ah.”

“Though the nights running around saving Kirkwall from itself also cuts into the wine drinking.”

Hawke chuckled. 

“It does need a lot of saving, doesn’t it?”

“Too much if you ask me.”

“I’m glad you still come along though.”

“I’m sure you all could manage without my sword. Aveline is as capable a warrior as there’s ever been.”

The fire crackled, and now Hawke didn’t laugh. The silence felt strange now, but Fenris never learned how to fill it. He relied on others to fill the silences for him, opting to fade into the background. And he had become reliant on Hawke’s almost incessant need to never let a silence linger. 

But this silence lingered. It echoed through the large sitting room, up the double staircase to the rooms that Fenris never touched and the one bedroom he did. In times like this, Fenris could feel how the place was too big for him. There were rooms he never touched or needed to touch. Rooms that were empty save for the echoes of a man Fenris wished dead so often he seemed more a ghost than a man.

He drank his wine to keep those thoughts away. Stared at the fire, a now familiar companion. And then he looked over at Hawke, a companion he still was not accustomed to, but he felt himself welcoming nonetheless.

“Fenris, can I ask you a question?” Hawke asked, finally breaking the silence. 

“When have I ever stopped you?” 

Hawke hummed. 

“You mentioned before that your tattoos can be painful.”

Now it was Fenris’s turn to be silent. 

“Is it...does it always hurt?” Hawke asked.

Fenris opened and closed his hands, evaluating. 

“No. Not anymore,” Fenris said.

“I see.”

“When they were freshly done, I ached at all times. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t eat. All I could do was suffer. But yet, I was told to get up and learn to fight. Learn to use it. Danarius was quite pleased with his little experiment and how it turned out, I gathered. Imagine a skinny little elf picking up a sword measuring almost his whole height with relative ease. What a feat of magic Danarius had done.”

“But it doesn’t ache anymore?”

Fenris reached for the bottle to refill his glass. 

“Sometimes, late at night, there is a phantom ache. Something that is there and not there. But a glass of wine usually makes it dull away to nothing again.”

Fenris licked his lips, tasting wine on them before glancing over at Hawke. He seemed to be paying him his full attention, body turned toward him in his seat. The attention spurned more words out of Fenris.

“And...they are sensitive. If someone or something touches them without warning, without me expecting it, the reaction is one of pain. It isn’t so bad if I know it is coming. If I allow it. But if someone were to grab my arm in a crowd, I would probably grit my teeth.”

Memories flooded Fenris all at once at that. The times Hawke had reached for him only to stop himself before. 

“I figured as much,” Hawke said softly before sipping at his wine. 

“Ah. Well. Yes.”

“I am glad that it isn’t too painful anymore, at least,” Hawke said. 

Fenris nodded along to his words.

“At least these slave markings are useful to me somehow. Others are simply marked up and left to rot. At least I...can make use of them.”

“You know, Fenris, you don’t have to be useful,” Hawke said. 

Fenris frowned at him. 

“What do you mean?”

Hawke shrugged. 

“I mean, you talk a lot about being useful. About finding use in your tattoos. About how you are useful to us. To me. You don’t have to be. You could tell me to fuck off whenever I need help, and I wouldn’t mind.”

“Right.”

“I mean it! If you wanted to give up fighting, being a warrior, all of it, I would definitely understand. You’ve had enough of that for the rest of your life. Hell, I’ve had enough for the rest of my life.”

“And still you fight.”

Hawke sighed, but the corners of his lips twitched. 

“And still I fight. Because I am a bloody fool.”

“Well…”

“So you agree?” Hawke asked, and he was already starting to laugh. 

“Partly. At least you are a kind fool. An overly kind fool. You fight because you run off to help anybody with a story,” Fenris said. 

“An overly kind fool.”

If Hawke hadn’t been smiling, Fenris would have been quick to apologize. But the smile on his face was genuine, and Fenris felt warm. The room didn’t feel as cavernous as before. Or as haunted. 

“But like I said, if you want to stop all this, I won’t mind. I can still invite you to the Hanged Man if you wish to still have your nose in our business,” Hawke said. 

Fenris hummed, sipped at his wine, and couldn’t find a reason to not agree with that. But then he looked back at Hawke and thought of the times when even with all his skill he was overwhelmed. He imagined, for just a moment, Varric coming to tell him that Hawke had fallen on some errant mission while Fenris hadn’t been there, and the thought turned him cold again.

“I think I would prefer the action. It is a distraction, at least,” Fenris said. 

“From what exactly?”

“What else am I to do here if not follow you around? I can’t be drunk all the time. Danarius might come at any moment. Might as well run around with an overly kind fool. Sometimes we even manage to have a bit of fun.”

“You have fun, Fenris?”

“Yes? I know Varric jokes, but I do not brood at all hours of the day.”

“Are you having fun now?”

It struck Fenris as a strange question. He floundered for an answer.

“I am…” he started.

Hawke raised a brow, patient, waiting. Listening. Truly listening. 

Fenris was still not used to that.

“...perfectly content,” Fenris finished. 

Hawke beamed. 

“I am glad then. Glad to see you perfectly content.”

Hawke sipped at his wine, biting at his lip for a moment before adding: “At least.”

Curious, Fenris couldn’t help himself. The wine was starting to get to him. 

“At least what?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I hope that one day, I’ll ask, and you’ll say that you are happy. Not just content, but happy,” Hawke said, looking askance.

Happy. Far too big of an emotion for Fenris to deal with. He still wouldn’t allow it, afraid that the moment he let himself be joyful, it would be snatched away from him in an instant. 

But sitting there beside Hawke, sharing a bottle of wine, filling the silence, he thought it could be close enough for now. 

Except there was something lingering in his mind still. 

“Are you happy, Hawke? I mean...the other night…”

Hawke grinned. 

“Worrying about me?”

Fenris tilted his head, swirled the wine in his glass, watched it spin. 

“You could say that,” he allowed. 

“I think I have happy moments. More happy moments now than before,” Hawke answered. 

“Oh?” 

He didn’t know what he was so curious about. What answer he was seeking. He sought after it nonetheless.

“And what happy moments are there?” Fenris asked. 

“Hm. When I told my mother I had bought back her childhood home, that was a good one.”

“I imagine so.”

“Many of the nights spent in the Hanged Man, laughing. Listening to Varric’s stories.”

Fenris hummed, feeling slightly disappointed, but not pinpointing why. 

“The night you joined us, though it was bittersweet,” Hawke continued. 

The fire felt louder than it ever had before. 

“Bittersweet?” Fenris asked softly. He wanted to look at Hawke, but he knew he couldn’t. He didn’t have it in him. He stared at his wine instead. 

“Yes. I wanted to help you. We all did. And not finding Danarius here was a bit disappointing for us as well. But I got to meet you. That part...was more sweet than bitter,” Hawke said. 

Fenris looked at him then, found the courage in himself to do it. Hawke, despite everything— the scar across the bridge of his nose that still burned red, the lines of his bushy beard, the shaggy mess of hair— was sweet-faced in a way. His cheeks were rosy from the wine and the light of the fire, and they were fuller now than when Fenris had first met him. His lips were poutier than he would ever admit, and pinker than they had any right to be. 

And that smile, that smile certainly made his face even sweeter still. 

“I am surprised still that I had found a friend that day,” Fenris said. 

Hawke hummed before emptying his glass. 

“Only a friend?” Hawke asked. It was his turn to look away, staring down at his cup. 

“Hm. I figure I have maybe made more than one.”

Hawke laughed, once, exasperated. 

“Of course. There’s me, and Varric, and Bethany despite your feelings about mages—”

“Aveline is good people. Isabela as well,” Fenris added.

Hawke snorted. “And Anders?”

“I would prefer not to bring him up when we are having such a good time,” Fenris said. 

Hawke laughed again. 

“Is friendship all you want, though?” he asked. 

Fenris hummed and finished his own glass.

“I never thought to seek anything at all here, save Danarius. Finding even friendship was unexpected.”

“Fenris…”

“Hawke.”

“I could...be more than just a friend. If you wanted.”

The room suddenly felt huge again. Bigger than it ever had been. But Hawke was still close. Was right there next to him. 

It’s funny, in a way. Fenris had thought of himself as the one beside Hawke. Following faithfully along. And now, he realized that sometimes Hawke thought of himself as the one beside Fenris. 

There was someone that wanted Fenris happy. And he sat there next to him, patient but anxious, waiting for a reply. 

Fenris had never had much of his own. Not even happiness. 

“I think...I would like that,” Fenris said softly. 

And this time when Hawke smiled, Fenris had no reason to doubt it. 

“I want to kiss you. I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time,” Hawke said. 

Fenris considered it for a moment, thought about the quiet nights where they would walk up the stairs to Hightown together. How Hawke would always hesitate before parting. How Fenris had found himself hesitating along with him. 

He put his glass down and stood up, striding over to Hawke’s seat. 

He knew what he was doing. Was aware of it. And Hawke didn’t surprise him by grabbing onto him or rushing forward, but Fenris knew deep down inside that Hawke wouldn’t do that. 

It was a slow thing. A quiet thing. Fenris bent down and bent closer, eyes focused on those pink upturned lips. He knew that Hawke had closed his eyes and sucked in a breath, holding it. And he didn’t realize he was holding his own until their lips touched, and his breath rushed out of him all at once in a sigh. 

Something sang in his body for a moment. Something much more pleasant than the lyrium. Something he wouldn’t mind more of. 

Hawke tilted his head, kissing him haltingly, almost curious, and Fenris kissed back. He felt Hawke’s smile against his lips before it parted against his lips into a kiss again, and Fenris was lost and found at once. 

It was a strange thing. Realizing that this was his. Feeling it as deep in his bones. 

His life, his body, his attention, they belonged to no one but himself now, and he could choose what to do with it. Hawke had never demanded anything of him. Only asked. Made sure Fenris knew he could say no. 

But this choice? It was his. It belonged to him. He owned it. 

And as he deepened the kiss more, let Hawke in just a bit more, let his hands move to hold onto his strong arms, he couldn’t find a hint of regret in it. 

And Fenris chuckled a bit in a moment apart before kissing him again. 

Fenris knew he was allowed to be happy. 

And maybe one day he would be truly happy. Smiling and laughing as much as Hawke smiled and laughed. 

But this moment, this song in his heart, he owned it. 

And he planned on holding onto it for as long as he could.

**Author's Note:**

> happy Dragon Age day, and thank you for reading!


End file.
